


The Plains of Purgatory

by SirJosephBanksFRS



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:12:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1808290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirJosephBanksFRS/pseuds/SirJosephBanksFRS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Padeen Colman’s imprisonment in New South Wales blessedly comes to an end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Plains of Purgatory

There were demons that walked the earth disguised as men; this Pádraig Colman knew, for he had been taught it as a boy in Munster. Some had come to Ireland with Cromwell in 1649, massacring priests at the siege of Drogheda. His mam had said one would know them by the pure hatred in their eyes, they showed it that way. Not one drop of love for humanity coursed through their veins, as attested to by their evil acts, which included torture.

Now Padeen was in New South Wales, lying in a hospital bed on an island populated with not one but apparently scores upon scores of these demons in human form, in all walks of life, from the abject to the powerful. All seemingly had one trait in common, a fierce loathing for all that which was Irish. He remembered during his transport telling a fellow transportee how his former ship's captain had acted to have his sentence commuted from death to transportation to New South Wales and the man's reaction, how he had said he was certain that Padeen's captain "sure, had meant it only as a kindness."  
  
The terrible, terrible reality of New South Wales had been foist upon him almost immediately. Padeen, who could not possibly see any creature suffering without every impulse in his body pushing him to succor the victim, was now subjected to seeing men and children beaten before him for hours upon hours weekly. He himself was given forty lashes for his involuntary gasps and weeping the first time he witnessed a child, a boy of thirteen years, being given forty lashes as a compulsion to confess to the theft of a piece of bread. He quickly learned to not make a sound but nothing could stop the tears at the quotidian horror and his own complete helplessness to aid the victims. He had seen the grate rigged for punishment after being taken up into the Navy, but never had he seen men beaten until there was no flesh left to clothe their scapular bones, never had he ever seen a man literally beaten to death before him. Padeen's reward for the violent purging that his stomach afforded him, seeing a man flogged to death with a sentence of three hundred lashes in an expression of the most sickening mercilessness he had ever witnessed bar none, was twenty-five lashes.

Lying in the hospital bed after his two hundred lash punishment had been meted out, Padeen opened his eyes and saw the back of the head of the man who was groaning softly in the next bed. The degree of pain he was feeling was unearthly, for every inhalation wrenched and tore apart the thousands of microscopic scarifying fibres being formed to breach the hundreds of flayed raspings that cut across the flesh of his back through the external and internal layers of skin, down through layers of muscle tissue, and the many that extended all the way down to abrasions of the bones themselves. The extreme pain over the entire dorsal surface of his torso from the base of his neck to mid-buttock and across the backs of his legs made him convulse spasmodically with no ability to stop himself, which further tore the delicate tissues being formed across the tatters of his flesh. Every breath he took filled him with agony. He tried to breathe as shallowly as he might, to not move the flayed musculature of his back. His lips were parched and he swallowed painfully to speak.

"Would I be dead then, _compánach?_ " he whispered in Irish, loud enough to be heard. He could remember his flogging going for what had seemed to be hours and losing consciousness, praying to Our Lady to ask God to forgive his blasphemous thankfulness for death as he slipped deep into the blackness of profound unconsciousness. He thought this bed must be part of Purgatory.

"No, my _bouchaleen_ , not yet, I fear, may God have mercy on us both," the man had said mournfully, between his groans of pain.

Padeen fell into delirium and dreamt of Paradise, which looked very much like County Clare in Ireland. Kind people spoke softly to him, his mother held him in her arms and fed him. Consciousness returned to him and Padeen asked again to the man in the ward if he were now dead, what place was this, was it Purgatory?

 "No, tis New South Wales, you poor creature," came the very weakly mumbled answer, "the very anteroom of hell itself, to be sure." Padeen's companion sank back into a coma and died the next day.

Only the degree of his injuries had then spared him that unpardonable sin against the Holy Spirit, for he was too close to death to actively despair. He spent much of the time in delirium. Disjointed visions of his life, of places he had been and people he had known flowed through him.

Again and again, he saw the familiar habitually pinched and careworn face and meagre form of his former master, his Doctor dear, Stephen Maturin standing over him and saying, "Never vex yourself, for I have come for you now, Padeen, my dear." He could see plainly that the Doctor was an angel, for his eyes were filled with more kindness than Padeen had seen since leaving England on transport. And then Doctor Maturin would just disappear. Was it an omen, a divinely ordained vision, his Doctor, his kind, dearest Doctor descending into the very depths of hell itself to tell him not to despair? He knew not what it meant but his whole heart believed in his delirium that Stephen Maturin would save him as he had saved the lives of so many men before Padeen's eyes. He lay in his fevered state recalling Stephen's many kindnesses over the years, both to himself and to others.

When he came back to full consciousness, Padeen could not still his tears, it had been so very real. Instead he was apparently in some incomprehensible terrestrial hell, bound to be flogged, survive, further abused, driven to escape, flogged again ad infinitum until death released him. He had never seen such ferocious hatred as he saw on the faces of the men upon whose good will and charity his life now entirely depended. Their pure, unreasoning odium made his existence unbearable, for there was absolutely nothing within his power to ever appease their wrath except his death. They reviled his very existence with every fibre of their beings. It hurt his heart, for he had never known such vicious malice. He was an exceedingly tender creature, full of affection and compassion for his fellow man, incapable of harming anything on God's green earth that was not in the process of actually wounding him. He was too tender hearted to kill a mouse; being the subject of never-ending, violent, irrational ire made his life devoid of any hope, indeed, of any reason whatever to exist.

The French killed their English foes in battle at sea absent any hatred; his fellow sailors on the _Surprise_ had done the same, utterly intent on victory but without a particle of loathing. Even the worst English soldiers he had ever seen in Ireland, who had come during the Rising to kill the Croppies, had been obviously human in comparison to these men whose inhuman hatred of the prisoners in general and of every Irish being in particular was like the hatred of the mongoose for the snake. It was a terrible sin, but repeatedly he had prayed for the life to slip out of him entirely, because death could not be worse. Every bite of food was ashes in his mouth and every day he was weaker, more delirious and thinner, as he wasted further away, his only happiness being his dreams of paradise, his dreams of County Clare, of his mother feeding him. He would fall asleep mid-prayer, he was so very weakened and the thought that he might die absolved was his only comfort. The people at the hospital were kind but it was not enough. He had entirely lost any will to live.

 

He had first thought it another dream when several days later he had felt the firm hand on a spot of relatively unflayed flesh of his right shoulder blade, a familiar touch filled with authority and human kindness. That sensible kindness woke him fully as he was cognizant of Stephen’s voice next to his ear murmuring in Irish, “Never stir now. God and Mary be with you, Padeen.'' Padeen’s heart was so full he thought that it must necessarily burst. He opened his eye and there was Doctor dear in the flesh as Padeen had thought he should never see him ever again in life. It was no dream, no phantasm, for the doctor wore that very familiar snuff-coloured waistcoat with the grease-stained pockets that Padeen had attempted unsuccessfully to restore to cleanliness with pounds of Dover chalk and the Doctor's neckcloth was soiled with minute drops of coffee. He could smell Stephen's familiar scent of coffee and tobacco mixed with a faint trace of asafoetida which clung stubbornly to his person. Dr Maturin’s face filled with more tenderness, more kindness, more mercy than Padeen had ever seen in anyone, his brow knit in concern, his customary razor sharp gaze of his peculiarly light blue eyes taking in everything at once.

“God and Mary and Patrick be with you, Doctor, I knew you would come," Padeen said thickly and tears flooded his eyes. He reached and grasped Stephen's hand tightly in his own, grasped it with surprising strength given his overall debility. His hand trembled uncontrollably as tears spilled from his eyes onto the pillowcase, tears of relief with realisation that the Dear had not actually forsaken him, that New South Wales was not, in fact, Purgatory nor the living literal hell he had believed it to be. Stephen Maturin's presence was proof to the contrary.

 "Quiet, now, Padeen," Stephen said. It took every bit of negligible strength that Padeen possessed to still himself as much as he might. "Listen, Padeen, my dear. Say nothing to any man at all, nothing. But you are going to a place where you will be more kindly treated, and there I shall see you again. There I shall see you again. Till then you must eat all you can, do you hear me now, Padeen. And till then God be with you, God and Mary be with you," Stephen said and he leaned over and kissed the back of Padeen's head very softly and then left him. Padeen wept silently as he thanked God for his salvation.

 

The time passed quickly. The crushing weight removed from his heart, Padeen did as Stephen directed. He ate an entire meal that night, more than he had eaten in the previous week. Every one of Doctor dear's words he heard in his mind over and over again. There was no man that he would ever have believed capable of removing him from this hell on earth, save Stephen Maturin and it was obvious that was Dr Maturin's meaning.

Padeen healed astonishingly well and was then removed to Mr. Paulton’s charge. Mr. Paulton was as kind as any property owner in New South Wales. Padeen was put to mind the lambs, which quickly became fond of him and would follow him without the use of a crook, the runt of the flock crawling to sleep in his arms nightly. He was in a state of disbelief to neither be beaten nor ill-used and given more than adequate food to eat, with large amounts of stewed mutton twice daily, the meat being crucial to restoring his muscle. He said a prayer of thanks to God for his situation and for Doctor dear's health every night. No less healing to his body and soul had been the absence of occasion to witness others being treated cruelly, the helpless observation being a very real form of torture for Padeen in and of itself.

When Stephen came to Woolloo-Woolloo and told Padeen that he would be returning to retrieve him on December twenty-fourth, his former loblolly-boy had fallen into a state of near ecstasy. Just as Doctor dear had raised the dead before him, he would make this miracle happen, of that Padeen had absolutely no doubt. He was aware that Stephen Maturin preferred death to ever wilfully breaking his word to anyone, so much was he a gentleman in the very truest sense of the word, for every man aboard _Surprise_ had commented upon it. The Doctor’s word and his honour were sacred to him.

Padeen knew how serious a crime it was for anyone to abet a prisoner in absconding from the Colony. It was very nearly impossible in any case, in any ship, save a Royal Navy vessel, whose Captain was an absolute monarch at sea. He realised that it must be the case once again that his life would be spared because of the very great attachment of Jack Aubrey to his surgeon.

 

Padeen set out early on that blessed morning, dawn on Christmas Eve to be certain of not missing Stephen. He strode energetically out to the meeting place, his heart lighter than he had ever known it, though it pounded in his excitement at the prospect of escaping New South Wales forever.

He could see Dr Maturin, Mr Martin and Mr Paulton far in the distance and he was approaching them as he heard Stephen cry out in pain and surprise and call out for a knife and handkerchief. Padeen ran as fast as his legs would carry him and reached them before Stephen lay down in the mud. Martin was struggling to tear the Doctor’s sleeve from his shirt as Padeen hurriedly removed Stephen's neckcloth which was now choking him, tore his collar apart and unbuttoned his waistcoat. Bonden and Plaice were suddenly with them as Martin pushed a large, hard hollow reed from the pond between Stephen's lips into his mouth. They looked at each other appalled. Padeen felt more anguish than he had ever known. Doctor dear's eyelids were already so swollen he could not open them and his lips had turned dark blue. Padeen had seen a boy attacked by a nest of hornets in County Clare exhibit the same symptoms and die.

"We must get him back to the ship," Mr Martin declared and Padeen and Bonden positioned themselves to lift him carefully to keep the supply of air flowing into him, for the slightest kink would kill him.

"Lift his head easy, mate, and lay it on my shoulder: never mind the blood," Bonden said and they struggled to carry him as flat as possible, for it was evident that he was barely capable of breathing, for the air was whistling shrilly like the bosun's pipe with each breath. They proceeded very slowly, for any bend of his neck or back could block the air and they carried him to cutter. Joe Plaice readied the cutter and Bonden and Padeen boarded her with the utmost care. Plaice helped Padeen to lower himself to a sitting position and Bonden eased the Doctor's person entirely into Padeen's arms. Mr Martin bid a hasty farewell to poor Mr Paulton, who appeared deeply stricken and took no notice whatever of Padeen. Joe Plaice hove off, Bonden took the tiller and they left Bird Island, Martin and Padeen praying assiduously for Stephen's survival.

 

Padeen rose from the bosun's chair on _Surprise_ 's deck, Stephen in his arms, Bonden and Plaice helping him to stand. Captain Aubrey rushed over to him, looking quickly at Padeen's face and then down into Stephen's. Padeen had never seen the skipper so nearly completely distraught. He was chalk white beneath his tan, his bright blue eyes stricken at the sight of the Doctor's horribly altered face.

 Jack quickly and gently grasped Stephen's unaffected right hand, apparently checking to see if it were still warm. He touched Padeen's shoulder and indicated him to follow and they walked down towards the great cabin and into the sleeping cabin to Jack's snowy cot. "Lay him in my cot, Colman, and then jump down to the gunroom for his leather cushion: you know where it is," Captain Aubrey said and he passed the word for Mr Martin.

Padeen softly laid Stephen into the Captain's cot. His left arm was purple and swollen to twice its customary diameter, the bright red line disappeared into his bicep at the tourniquet. Mr Martin came in and gave Padeen a pair of scissors and told him they must cut the Doctor's shirt off and remove the tourniquet. Padeen did as he was told as though in a dream. He was on board his ship, filled with familiar men with kind faces who spoke gently to him. His former shipmates nodded to him as though it were no surprise to see him there. He retrieved Stephen's cushion, propped his arm and body up and Preserved Killick pulled an elbow chair into the sleeping cabin for him to sit next to Stephen's side.

Mr Martin dressed the wound with Padeen's help. He returned and checked on the Doctor twice that afternoon and evening. Padeen stayed with Stephen until quite late that evening, Killick having brought him supper. Captain Aubrey came into the sleeping cabin right after the striking of eight bells in the last dog watch. He placed his hat on Stephen's empty cot and removed his coat.

"How is he, Padeen?" Jack said, looking down into his particular friend's swollen face, his eyelids and lips still grossly swollen but at least the blue discoloration was leaving him.

"About the same, your honour," Padeen said, choking as he stammered on the words.

"Mr. Martin has seen to it that your hammock has been slung in your old place. Do you think you shall be rested enough to return here at two bells in the morning watch?"

"Yes, sir," Padeen said.

"Very good. Killick and I shall attend him now, then. I am certain that Mr Martin will return with you in the morning. Are there any particulars as to the wound or anything that I must attend to?" Padeen pointed out how they had positioned Stephen to maximise the amount of air he could be expected to inhale and how his arm was positioned with the cushions. Jack listened carefully, moving the Argand lamp to observe Padeen's gestures. He nodded in acknowledgement, clasping Padeen's shoulder finally.

"Very well done, Colman, well done indeed. I thank you most kindly, for no one could possibly have done any better for him. Pray do say a prayer for him tonight, if you please, as shall I. Now, do go and get some rest; I am very certain that you need it." Padeen looked Jack in the eye and touched his knuckle to his forehead. Captain Aubrey nodded to him with a slight smile and clapped his shoulder again. He then sat down in the elbow chair as Padeen gathered the sundries in the cabin that were brought in that day and evening. He saw Jack Aubrey lean forward, drawing the chair as close to Dr Maturin's form as he might and heard him clear his throat to speak gently.

"Stephen, my dear, dear Stephen, you are aboard _Surprise_ , my dear. You are aboard and Padeen is aboard. Padeen is here," Jack said very quietly, taking Stephen's unaffected right hand into his own. "I am in the cabin with you, soul. Pray do not be vexed for anything in the world, brother. You are safely aboard now, as is Padeen," Jack said, a lump in his throat making it hard for him to speak. He leaned forward and pressed Stephen's hand against his lips. Padeen saw Captain Aubrey's eyes close and within seconds, he had fallen asleep in his elbow chair as he had so many years beforehand in _Lively_ , his hand grasping Stephen's. Padeen slipped out silently, saying a prayer for them both.


End file.
